


my body is here and i am inside

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [18]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 03:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20753261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Time for a scenic stroll on the biggest bridge in the city, for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Honest. Go away Herald.





	my body is here and i am inside

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Panic Attack by Liza Anne]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mO8RxQJOAPk)

The wind whips the ends of your jacket about you. Stubbornly hold the halves together rather than zip up. Let the bay air curl around you, toxic smog and all. The Millennial Span Bridge isn’t really meant for foot traffic. There had been plans once, setting up a mini-mall in the bridge supports but the money had dried up not long after the bridge proper was built and the shops never opened.

But the walkway remained. Just had to hop two locked gates. No razor-wire, no electricity. Hardly a real deterrent. By the halfway point you’re high up enough above the water that you can see the occasional boat passing under. The sun is starting to set at this point – it’s been a long day – but you keep your sunglasses on.

Old L.A. would have have never called for a bridge like this, as far as you understand it. But things change when half your geography drops into the sea. There’s a safety railing to run your hand along, because of course there is. No one wants the bad press of your vanity project becoming a hub for jumpers. But it’s half-assed job. Find a joint that hangs down from the river of cars rumbling over your head and you could climb over it pretty easy.

On the other side and there’s even a convenient lip of metal wide enough for you sit on, let your legs dangle over the void. Kicking freely.

Well.

Here you are, Ariadne.

Now what?

It’s been, what? A few weeks? A month? Meeting Ortega in that diner. You haven’t gone back there since. It felt too portentous. And now the rest of the Rangers know you’re here. And you’re ostensibly alive. Hopefully they believe you about being retired. Hopefully Ortega kept quiet about what you babbled on to her about. She’s always been one to understand your need for privacy, but it’s not like she hasn’t screwed up before in the name of trying to ‘help’ you.

It had been a mistaken to listen to her at all. To let her drag you into somebody’s else’s problem. Why? Because you missed her? You miss plenty of things you can’t have. That doesn’t mean you should go for it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And then–

You shudder, hug yourself tight as a wave of nausea washes over you again. God. You’re getting sick of that. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of feeling powerless. Out of control of your own life. Sick of–

_cables, like snakes in the grass,_

_coiled around your feet. the red threads wrapped_

_around your wrists pull_

_tight and move you forward. so much lighter now_

_ that it’s not you that’s moving it_

_but then who’s driving?_

_and then there’s herald’s goofy smiling face and_

_doesn’t he understand that something is wrong?_

_somebody, anybody, help_

Is that what it’s been like for _every_ person you’ve possessed over the past two years? You want to believe Argent just got some unlucky combination; an unusually strong mind and the need to keep her not entirely under. She was just… unlucky. Sorry honey, you rolled snake eyes. Nothing personal, honest.

But Argent is the only mind you’ve actually seen the after effects for. How it has stuck on her like plaque on teeth, eating away at what’s underneath. You’ve never cared before. As long as no one immediately raised the alarm, what did it matter? Possession? Who would believe them? Nobody would. No one’s ever heard of such an ability in all the years the Hero Drug has been around, fucking up humanity.

But the Rangers would believe it.

Because it happened to them.

Because it happened to you.

Because coiled snakes and red strings wormed their way into your head and pointed your own gun at your head. Because the puppeteer tossed you through a window and over the edge.

How many people have you done this to already?

How many will never feel right again for the rest of their lives?

You lean your head back against the metal mesh of the protective webbing that’s supposed to keep you on the other side. Feel the hexagons of steel press against the back of your skull. Cover your face in your hands. You want to cry, can feel it in your lungs. But your throat’s too tight, your eyes are burning, the tears not coming.

Was it that you didn’t know or have you just been running away from the truth the whole time?

This is what you are now. A monster. Or no, a ghost. That’s cute. Maybe that should be your villain moniker. Or fuck it, maybe you won’t bother with one at all. Just roll with whatever the press calls you.

Or maybe they won’t call you anything because your body will have turned up on the beach, another waterlogged victim eaten by the city of devils.

Julia might be sad for a little bit, but it’s hard to imagine. It feels selfish pretending she’d care about you at all. Seven years is a long time. Maybe– maybe the Farm had been lying to you about her, about what she’d done, but that didn’t change the fact that having you in her life would only make Julia’s worse. Any passing pain she might possibly have over your loss again would be worth sparing her what’s coming down the line.

Chen would be relieved, you’re certain. All that talk about being happy you’re alive. You know a sack of bullshit when it’s thrown in your face. He wants you staying far away from his precious Rangers.

Lady Argent would rather just kill you herself. Or would if knew the truth. Maybe you should tell her. Let her have that closure, something you never got. Would that help her or make it worse? You don’t know. And then maybe she wouldn’t actually kill you. Maybe she’d just hand you back over.

Dr. Mortum would be confused about the sudden disappearance of her new favorite business liaison, you’re sure. But she’s been working in the underground for years. People disappear without warning all the time. She’ll have forgotten Jane before the end of the year.

Jane herself… without you to take care of her, she’ll wither and die, comatose as she is. There’s nothing you can do about that. She was a dead woman on life support before you found her. You just staved off the final verdict by a few years is all.

Are you missing anyone? You think that’s everybody. It’s not exactly a compelling list of reasons to stick around.

What reasons do you have to not to step off anyway?

So you can burn the Farm down? Expose the Directive? If you don’t try no one else will. No one else is in a position to even guess at what’s going on like you are. This project has literally been the only thing holding you together since you escaped their clutches two years ago. Sometimes you screw up and fall asleep instead of jumping into Jane and–

You drag your nails against your scalp, force yourself to swallow. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, rapid shallow breaths leaving you lightheaded.

At least out here there’s no one that can see you like this.

A lot more people are going to get hurt before this is over. Unless you stop now.

But if you stop you die.

The water’s far below you. Far enough? You’ll break bones against the water tension on impact. Enough to put you out? You’re not sure on the math. If you live, you probably won’t be in any condition to swim. You’ve always wanted to swim, but you’ve never actually put this body in water, would you float? You don’t know. Would you be able to stay composed until you run out of oxygen or would the animal brain take over and send you in a blind panic?

You don’t want to hurt but… maybe you’d deserve it.

“Enjoying the view?”

You freeze, head in your hands. Slowly you raise your head to find Herald hovering a few feet in front of you. His complete nonchalance at casually defying the pull of gravity feels a little surreal. You stare at him through your tinted lenses, uncomprehending.

Herald tilts his head with an uneasy grin. “Sorry, I was just passing by and thought I saw someone on the bridge. So…”

You close your eyes, breath out. In a way, this is a relief. You can focus all your anger on him instead. He’s obviously lying. ‘Just passing by’. _Please_. Bullshit. These assholes. As if you needed more proof the Rangers being aware of you now was only going to fill your life with even more problems.

“Are you okay?” Herald frowns and it’s all you can do not to groan. This is absolutely not a conversation you want to go down, and not with goddamn fucking boy-wonder Herald of all people.

“Were you following me, wonderbread?”

“Of course not!”

“D–don’t lie to a telepath, genius. Who put you up to this, Ortega?” There’s a tinge of guilt alright. It’s tempting to delve further, just pry the whole thing out of his head. Is Ortega having you tailed then? You didn’t work with her for five years to not have some idea how she likes to operate.

“Ortega has no idea I’m here, honest.” Huh, he’s telling the truth there. You’re not sure what to make of that. But then, that only leaves on other option.

“Oh. S-so it’s Chen then.” Yep, bingo. “What? Did the Marshal want to make sure I got home safe? How kind.” Why can’t these people just leave you alone to die in peace already?

“That’s– that’s not it,” Herald sighs, you can feel his exasperation. There’s a certain satisfaction in getting to knock that unsettling cheeriness out of his head. “Marshal Steel _did_ ask me to look out for you, okay? But I mean it when I say I was just passing by.”

You open your eyes so you can glare at him.

“To be honest… I… kind of lost track of you three blocks from the building.”

“I don’t a–appreciate being followed.”

Herald dips down before returning back to eye level. “How did you know?”

“Of– of course I knew,” you lie, “I’ve been at this for years.”

“Were you always this cautious, back… uh, before?”

You flinch, scratch your neck as you avoid looking at him. “Y–yeah. Absolutely.” He buys the lie, thank god.

“Doesn’t that get tiring?”

Someone laughs, sharp and bitter and you realize it’s yours. Rub your eyes with the back of one hand. “Look. I value my privacy. O–okay?” You try to emphasize the word privacy, hope he’ll get the hint.

“I can respect that,” says Herald, the man who continues to not leave your presence. “Actually, um…” He hunches down, “I’ve been wanted to asking something, if you don’t mind, Sidestep?”

“Okay first; It’s Ariadne. Second; I do mind, actually. B–buzz off.” You flick your finger at him. God, just, go away already. You’ve got short and shorter futures to compare and contrast.

Herald frowns, shakes his head as he drifts a little closer to you. “Sorry, I can’t do that. Actually, uh–” He looks away from you again, scratching his neck. “You’re kind of technically trespassing now.”

“Are–are you _kidding me_.” You grip the edge of the lip with your hands, the metal cold to the touch. Would he actually try to catch you if you pushed off? “The Rangers really need to stoop to enforcing fucking trespassing signs?”

“If you need a lift somewhere I could carry–”

You cut him off with a hand gesture. “Absolutely not.” You grind your teeth. What do you need to say to make him go away? “You’re a hero, aren’t you wonderbread? Surely you’ve seen people brooding before.”

The spike of worry as Herald drifts even closer suggests that was maybe the wrong tact to try. “I heard you had a rough time today…?” He ventures, “I mean, from helping Lady Argent.”

“It’s n–n–none of your business.” Pinch the bridge of your nose, pushing the sunglasses back up against your eyes. “In fact, speaking of Argent,” you glare at him, “Shouldn’t you be off taking care of _her_? Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

That gets Herald to back off a little bit, a sudden backwash of unpleasant memories rushing back against you. “We’re on… a break right now, actually.”

“Probably because your– your priorities are so out of whack,” you snap. And yep, that one stings. He flinches and there’s a flush on his face now.

“She’s… been through a lot, and she just needs her space right now.” The way he talks sounds rehearsed, like he’s parroting what someone else told him. Not so confident now.

“I know perfectly well what’s she’s been through, thanks.”

“Was it… that bad?”

“God, Herald, that’s not my place to talk about. Try asking your _partner_.”

“I just want to… to understand what she’s going though?” Herald gives you a pleading look and you want to melt through the bridge and die. Is this really going to be your last conversation on earth? Playing therapist to some rich jerkward busybody with girl troubles? _Really_? This is how you go out? This is pathetic.

You run a hand through your hair, feel all the little knots and curls pull and snap. “You want to ‘understand?’ Then just try fucking listening for once.”

“I can’t listen if she doesn’t talk to me!” The genuine anger gets you by surprise. Herald blinks, and then his face turns beat-red. Ashamed of himself? Huh.

Maybe this is your chance. “Look, just leave me alone, okay? Go handle your own shit.”

Herald sighs, sits down next to you on the lip of the bridge. _Goddamnit_. “Did you and Charge go through phases like this, back in the day?”

You stare at him for a solid thirty seconds trying to process what he meant.

“Sorry, I just, I know you two had a thing and–”

“We _absolutely did not!_” You voice breaks and can feel your heart pounding in the back of your throat, “We worked together, that’s it.”

“Oh? I guess I got the wrong impression, I’m sorry.” Herald doesn’t met your death glare, the bastard.

You glare at him in silence and then… a morbid curiosity overtakes you. “What in the hell could–could–could have _ever_ given you that impression?”

“Uh…” Herald balks, and suddenly there’s a dozen different thoughts running through his head and you can’t get a read on any of them. Finally he says, “Well, I mean, there had been a lot of rumors on the usenet forum back in the day?” _Rumors!?_ “But to be honest, I never believed any of it until that first time when we were all together at Argent’s request and you and Charge walked in.” Herald shrugs, “And then I was like, ‘oh, well, that makes sense.’”

You don’t have a response to that. Don’t even know how to start parsing it.

It was so much easier not to care when you only knew these people from news reports or memories.

“So, I know you said you’re… fine – and I believe you, honest.” Herald’s lying again. “But in that case, do you mind if I just… hang out with you, watch the sunset? This isn’t a bad spot.”

You take a deep breath. In. Out. Push up your sunglasses while you rub the tears and salt out of your eyes. God. Did you smear your make-up? Are your scars visible? Shadow exposed? You can feel your heart-rate speed up again. It takes an active effort to let the thought go. Who cares? Ortega’s not here.

“Yeah, sure.” You say. “Kn–knock yourself out.”

You don’t give a damn what Herald thinks.

“Thanks.” You can feel Herald relax a little as he sits a few inches away from you. Not crowding, but close enough.

You close your eyes, sag your shoulders as you hit your head back against the metal railing lattice. “I know what you’re– what you’re doing.”

That gets a spike of alarm from him. God, his thoughts are like an open book. You hate it.

“I’m just happy to take a breather.”

“D–don’t bullshit me Herald. We’re both adults here.” You turn your head glare straight at him. “If you breath a word of this to anyone, I will find out where you live and fill your bed with thumbtacks.”

“Okay…” Herald looks away from you, uneasy. “Noted.” He fidgets, hands in his lap. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

You groan. “I can’t stop you,” you lie.

“Why ‘Sidestep’?”

“Huh?” You blink, stare down at the water far below. little waves beckoning you on down. “Oh, well… Why ‘Herald’?”

He cringes, embarrassed? Hah. “It was my management team that came up with it. Focus testing or something? I was just hap–”

“Stop.” You hold up a hand, dismiss the words with a wave. “I d–d–don’t really care that much.”

“Oh. Uh–okay.”

You sit in silence, kicking your legs up and back under the lip. Take a breath. In. Out. “I wanted people to focus on the fighting skills. That it–it was all trained or something. Reading people’s thoughts is… harder if they know you can do it. Th–throw up obstacles, walls.”

“So it was a strategic thing?”

“Well…” You allow yourself a small smile. Still not looking at Herald. “S–something like that. There… there was, uh… person I–I knew around then. Thought it w–was… too dangerous. She asked if I was g–going to to sidestep my way through every fight. So…”

“So it was… a spite thing?”

“Hah! Y–yeah. I guess.”

“How did they take it?”

You frown, trying to think back. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Did it ever come up? There was like, a year between when you started the name and Chelsea left, wasn’t here? It must have. “Wh–whatever. Spite can get you pre–pretty far in life if you use it right.”

“I don’t know about that…” Something’s buzzing just under Herald’s thoughts and you can’t quite get a read on it. Suddenly the boy’s a mystery, go figure.

You stay there for another hour or so, quietly suffering Herald’s little questions about your career, and it quickly becomes apparent he knows way more than someone who wasn’t there for any of it should. You’re not sure how to feel about that. Other then old.

When the sun starts to drown in the ocean, you reluctantly agree to let Herald give you a hand back over to the sane side of the railing. He follows with you back to the foot of the bridge, despite your repeated insistence that you were just going straight home and to buzz off already.

You go through four taxi cabs before you feel confident enough that you’ve lost Herald to actually go home.

Home.

It isn’t much, a singular combined bedroom-kitchenette and a tinier bathroom. Pretty sure the complex had been a tourist trap motel once upon a time. It’s yours though, and there’s something surreal about that. You’ve never ‘owned’ an apartment before. You keep telling yourself you’ll properly decorate one day, but it never happens.

Flip on the lights, greet the cockroach as it scurries under the cabinet “Hi Larry,” stagger over to your bed and fall over face down.

Roll over and grab a pillow, clutch it to your chest, draw your legs up into a fetal position. No more possessions ever again. If you can’t work a mental suggestion or rely on a bribe, you’ll just have to find another way. You’re not inflicting that on another person again.

You bury your head in the pillow.

If Herald hadn’t shown up then, would you be here right now?

You don’t want to think about it.

At least these days, when you don’t feel like being you, there’s a solution.

And you don’t have to worry about Jane being scarred for life; you’re the only consciousness she’s got.


End file.
